


The Dying Stars

by oldmountainsoul



Series: The Dying Stars [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Canon Compliant, Duelling, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Pre-Canon, Self-Sacrifice, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldmountainsoul/pseuds/oldmountainsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bastila's duel with and following Force-bonding with Revan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Appersonation

 It was only a matter of chance that she survived, if she’d been standing a matter of inches to the side, or had faced a different way her own life might have been forfeit as well. But here she was, of a strike team of six, five of whom were Jedi Masters, only Bastila Shan survived. Her alone… and one prisoner. She’s relived it every night since.

  All her masters had been thrown back against the bulkhead with an earth-shattering burst by Revan, and only her barriers had held. She’d barely had time to catch the lightsaber scything towards her chest, twisting her own dual-bladed saber up to lock them both in a hold, still unsteady on her feet from the Force behind the pulse before. It still roiled off of her adversary, practically billowing up behind her like smoke, crackling like thunderclouds.

  Revan circled, keeping the lock in place and forcing her to turn with her or risk losing the deadlock and making what would surely be a fatal mistake. Time was not on Bastila’s side, as the Sith’s reinforcements could arrive any moment, but surely her masters would recover and come leaping to her aid soon enough. With that thought, a rush of confidence buoyed her up and Bastila stood her ground, forcing Revan’s red saber back inch by inch with a series of thrusts, forcing the Sith Lord on the defensive.

  “You cannot win, Revan!” she shouted, setting her jaw and meeting Revan’s gaze behind the mask. The other woman said nothing, though as she conceded the ground she set them both circling again, though both sabers were mere centimeters from searing her armor. Turning until Bastila could see what had been behind them–all five Jedi masters frozen in place, caught in an enormous stasis field. If Revan could hold so many who were so strong in the Force for so long already, she might even to be able to hold them indefinitely. None of them would be coming to her aid. She would have to break her concentration somehow if she was going to survive.

 “You’re Bastila Shan, aren’t you?” she said, her voice low and crackling as the question was issued through the mask. Bastila didn't deign it with a reply, only struggled in vain to push her advantage. What could only be a sigh then filtered through the mask, and Revan finally twisted her saber out of the hold, stepping back to free her hand as she tossed back her hood, pulling off her mask. The older woman’s features had been fair once, soft features framed by dark wavy hair pulled back, and wide doe eyes almost childlike except for their unnatural orange color, the telltale sign of dark side corruption.

 Bastila charged her, throwing all her weight and power into her strike, but Revan merely caught her lightsaber on her own, moving with the blow to defuse it and forcing another deadlock. She ran her fingers through her hair, still keeping only one hand on her weapon as she met Bastila’s glare, the younger woman’s brow furrowed in concentration as she desperately struggled against the hold.

 “I asked you Jedi, are you Bastila Shan?” Revan murmured, and without the filters on the mask her voice was higher, soft and sweet, like honey in poisoned wine.

 “What does it matter who I am, Sith?” Bastila hissed, pulling back and clashing lightsaber blades again as Revan parried her thrusts.

 “There’s power in a name, Jedi–I know this more than anyone. But it is especially important to me if you are Bastila Shan. I could always rip it from your mind, or perhaps from your fellow Jedi? But I’d rather hear it from your lips,” the Sith Lord countered.

 “Do you often make conversation with people who are trying to kill you?”

 “Only if they’re interesting,” Revan replied with a playful smile, setting out to disarm her opponent in earnest now with a series of spinning strikes, forcing the Padawan back.

“I’m not here to be interesting for you!” Bastila spat, parrying her thrusts and gripping her hilt for dear life.

 

And then time slowed to a stop, and she can never believe that she’s remembering it correctly, but every night she relives the same memory, and so it must be true.

Revan’s face fell, and something like fear, or hurt entering her eyes and before a flash of the most terrifying anger Bastila has ever seen, and she deactivates her lightsaber, throwing it past the Padawan, and Bastila sees an opportunity and leaps at her again, only thinking later that she should have been dumbstruck, or at least more cautious. But then she only saw an opportunity, taking it for surrender, as impossible as it seems. Revan catches her lightsaber blade in her hands, burning through the armor but thankfully not clear through her hands as she tackles Bastila, throwing them both into a lift with doors miraculously open, laser cannons tearing through the middle of the bridge, the explosion ripping the floor they had been standing on mere moments before to shreds.

 Bastila only remembers to breathe again after the lift doors close, sending them down to the shuttle bay. She feels the lives of her Masters blink out all at once, the loss ripping through her like a wordless scream as they become one with the Force. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no death, there is the Force,_ she reminds herself, forcing the bile in her throat down as she becomes aware of more immediate problems.

 Revan is slumped against her, the Sith Lord’s breathing ragged and shallow, a yellow sentinel’s lightsaber through her chest at an upward angle. Her lightsaber. The other half is lost, but one is activated and stuck in a still breathing Sith Lord. A Sith Lord who just saved her life. Bastila rushes to deactivate it, pulling it out of the older woman’s torso–it’s a miracle she’s still alive, though the risk of her bleeding out is roughly zero as the gaping hole marking her impalement is completely cauterized.

 “You saved my life,” she says incredulously as she flows healing energy into the wound. _All life is precious. All life is precious. She saved my life she saved my life she saved my life._ _Why?_

“It…would have been a waste. Will…kill…Malak for it…. later...” Revan gasps, pushing back as the elevator door opens. “Get…us…to…the shuttle…you came on. I’ll…live.”

“Yes, of course,” Bastila murmurs, rushing to comply. She throws Revan’s arm over her shoulder, and the Sith Lord puts her own arm around Bastila’s waist. Together they limp to the small stealth shuttle in the bay, the hallways smoking but intact, most of the ship’s interior yet to fall victim to the fleet’s cannons. Bastila helps the older woman inside, then puts in coordinates for autopilot, praying they’ll be able to escape most of the assault unnoticed.

She feels Revan’s life waning; the Sith Lord is close to becoming one with the Force.

 _No_. Bastila is adamant. She will not let her die. _A life for a life. No…. All life is precious all life is precious all life is precious_

_Her life is precious._

She pours her soul out into the dying woman laying on the seat beside her, breathing on the embers of the Force inside her, hoping they’ll burst into life again. There’s still a gaping hole in her chest, right through a lung, but her heart, her spine is intact, as is most of her. She will need serious medical attention, but Bastila can hold on to her until they reach a kolto tank. She will be her lifeline.

“You were right. I am Bastila Shan,” she whispers, keeping her hand on Revan’s chest with a steady flow of life giving Force.

“I know.”


	2. Cross Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more of an interlude and not as action-y, but there's still some shenanigans ;D

 

Bastila was barely aware of her surroundings as the shuttle made its way through the fleet battle to the hidden Republic base on the planet below. She was vaguely aware that it was an unpleasant journey, the occasional stray cannonfire rocking the ship wildly, but the shields held long enough for them to reach the atmosphere of the planet below, home to a hidden Republic base.

The ride to the surface might’ve been hours or days–she had no way of knowing, she was too absorbed to notice, focused entirely on meditating on the Force, feeding it through her to the unconscious woman beside her fiercely clinging to life. Bastila barely had the presence of mind to use the shuttle’s distress signal as she held on.

Hours later a patrol arrived, no questions were asked, the troop’s only concern hurrying them to a medbay. Though completely exhausted, Bastila only relinquished her hold on Revan once they reached the kolto tanks, the medics gently lowering the Sith Lord inside and strapping an oxygen mask over her face.Exhausted, the Jedi sank to her knees with relief as she let go of the link through which she’d been pouring energy to keep them both alive.

Suddenly, it felt like something inside her snapped, the bereavement opening up a blazing hole in her chest and she screamed, clawing at her robes trying ease the gaping phantom wound. And as quickly as it came, the feeling passed, replaced by a cool soothing touch, filling the gap.

“Master Jedi! Master Jedi, are you alright?” One of the doctors asked, helping the Padawan to her feet.

Bastila took a moment to compose herself, her thoughts racing. _What was that? What’s going on? Was that…_ She looked up at the woman floating unconscious in the tank in front of her. _Was that you?_

“I… Uh… Yes. I’m fine,” she murmured, shaking her head and turning away, to face the med staff.

“What happened?” said the doctor who had helped her to her feet, an older Zabrak woman.

“I’m not sure. I need to speak with the Council immediately.” Bastila replied honestly, turning on her heel to seek out a comm and losing her balance, her legs giving out beneath her.

“Whoa there, Master Jedi, you should rest first,” the doctor suggested, eyeing the Padawan as she sagged against the doorframe.

“It is of utmost importance that the Council know what transpired here today–” Bastila protested.

“And they will–today even. But you need some sleep and some fluids, Jedi or not. You’ve just been through an ordeal and even you need to recuperate. Six hours, doctor’s orders. All of this information will be kept completely classified, if that’s what you’re worried about, and you can send them the report yourself after you get some shuteye. But six hours, Jedi. No but’s.”

“Alright.” Bastila reluctantly agreed, though she was secretly happy to have an excuse to rest. She leaned against the door as the Zabrak woman called over a nurse to help Bastila to her quarters.

 

* * *

 

 

“Masters?” Bastila called, testing the secure comm. She’d rested and accepted the injection recommended by the doctors, and it could be delayed no longer.

“Padawan Shan? What is your mission status?” Master Vrook Lamar demanded, coming into view all the base’s main holocom.

“I…” Bastila hesitated, a wave of guilt surging up in her chest as she remembered the members of her strike team.

“The mission was a success, Master. Revan is currently incapacitated and receiving medical treatment at this base.”

“Alive? A dangerous choice, Padawan,” the old master chided. “And what became of your strike team?”

“All five of them were lost when Malak’s fleet fired on the ship, Master. I felt them all become one with the Force.” Bastila replied steadfastly, putting on her bravest face, calming herself. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no death, there is the Force,_ she repeated in her thoughts.

“And both you and the Sith miraculously survived?”

“…Yes, master. They were caught in the blast. Revan, she… She saved my life, Master Lamar. She threw me out of the way and gravely injured herself in the process.” She relayed the details of their escape off the bridge, and the incident in the medbay.

“It was something like a disturbance in the force, Master Vrook, I’ve never felt anything like it before. It was like I felt her pain as if it were my own, something beyond mere empathy.”

Master Vrook paused, his ever-present furrow in his brow deepening as he frowned.

“This news is…troubling, Padawan. We must discuss this as a council, and with you in person. As soon as you are able, arrangements will be made for the transport of you and your prisoner to Dantooine.”

“Yes Master. I will report to you as soon as the… prisoner is stable enough for hyperspace travel.”

 

* * *

 

 

Revan never regained consciousness over the course of their stay at the hidden Republic base, though Bastila visited with her frequently. The Jedi told herself it was in case the Dark Lord awoke and became violent in her confusion, but she wasn’t sure why she stayed.  Bastila did however receive word from more of the Council. They had come to the conclusion that what the Padawan had felt was the forging of a Force Bond. The Hope of the Republic, bound to the woman determined to crush it beneath her boot. After that revelation, Bastila was rarely away from Revan’s side. She was determined to figure out the woman whose fate was tied to hers.

Bastila was often accompanied by the Zabrak woman who had spoken with her before, a Dr Ranu Nafar, one of the Republic’s finest surgeons. But even in her twenty years of experience, she’d never dealt with such a wound before.

“I’ll be honest with you Jedi, I have no idea how your buddy over here is still alive. She must be a special case. I don’t think most people come back from taking a lightsaber through the ribs.” Dr Nafar said as she personally checked the injured human’s vitals, prepping her for yet another experimental surgery.

“She’s not like most people.” Bastila asserted, clenching her fists into her robes.

“Yeah, she’s a fighter, if nothing else. Jedi healing must be one hell of a drug, that she’s still kicking. Y’see, Master Jedi, if it were from a vibroknife, or maybe a nasty piece of shrapnel, there’d still be tissue there. A torn, gaping, nasty mess of tissue, but still tissue. I would stitch her up and pump her full of kolto and she’d be able to kick around for another century, maybe even return to active duty in a year. But this? There’s nothing left to stitch up. All the tissue’s gone. It’d be like trying to reattach a dead limb. Even if we put a new lung in, there wouldn’t be enough space for it, and it wouldn’t reach her diaphragm anyway so it’d just be a useless bag in her chest. Unless we find a way to magically regrow her chest, your friend here is gonna need a durasteel lung,” the surgeon explained as she finished her examination.

Bastila bit her lip, considering the options. A metal lung might be rejected, and would take far longer to implement, even if potential replacement tissues still had to be grown in a lab. The longer Revan was incapacitated, the longer the war would drag on. But through their bond, she might be able to draw the information out of her while the Sith Lord slept. No, even while comatose Revan’s mental barriers would be strong from years of practice, and any attempts would simply alienate her, a thought which bothered Bastila for reasons she couldn’t place. There had to be a way to help her. Perhaps through their Force Bond…

“I’d like to try something, if I may.”

“What? More Jedi voodoo? It’s worth a shot.” Dr Nafar shrugged, taking a seat to watch.

Bastila stepped forward, taking the Dark Lord’s head in her hands, lining her thumbs up with Revan’s temples and reaching out with her mind.

 _Revan?_ A moment’s pause, before she felt a reply.

 _If it isn’t Bastila Shan._ Revan answered in her thoughts, the Sith’s smugness curling around Bastila like smoke.

 _….Yes, it is. You’re gravely injured–_ Bastila pressed, not to be deterred.

_Oh, am I? I hadn’t noticed._

_–And I want to help you._

_How very **Jedi** of you. ...Not that I’m complaining._

_Very well. I’m going to direct rejuvenating energy through you. Please accept it._

  _Alright Shan_ , _since you said ‘ **please**.’_

“Thank you,” Bastila murmured, trailing her fingers down to Revan’s chest. She carefully pulled the older woman’s shift up and out of the way. With the lightest touch she could manage, she tore off the kolto pads over the ugly, burned out hole in Revan’s chest, freezing when the sleeping woman writhed for a moment, grinding her teeth in her sleep.

Bastila hesitated, composing herself once more before laying her hands over the injury, channeling life-giving energy into the deadened tissues. She felt the bones beneath her fingers knit into place, apparently Revan’s ribs were not burned completely through. Only damaged in part, though the muscle and tissue between them was completely incinerated. There was little she could do to knit it back together but…. Perhaps she could make it more receptive, should they attempt a tissue transplant. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Bastila reached out with her mind deep in the Force, and almost jumped when she felt Revan reaching in tandem with her. Her hands tingling with energy, Bastila felt the hole beneath her fingers begin to close, new cells forming a fragile layer of new skin over the wound.

“Well would you look at that. We might be able to fix her up with some transplants after all. We’ll get her to a kolto tank, and then she should be ready for transfer to some proper facilities whenever you’re up for it, Master Jedi.” Dr Nafar grinned, hastily sending a request for a nurse on her datapad.

 “Good, that’s wonderful, Doctor,” Bastila replied, thoroughly drained and taking a seat.

“You okay, Jedi?”

“Yes, I should–I just need a moment.” she answered, collapsing back into the chair.

“If you say so.” Dr Nafar replied as two nurses filed in, fitting Revan with a new oxygen mask and hoisting her into a kolto tank.

“Say, I’ve never seen a Jedi actually do the mind reading trick before. Is it that uncommon?” the Zabrak woman continued.

“Jedi don’t exactly do mind-reading. Some of us can extract information from another’s mind though. However, that was merely an attempt to communicate with her, which is potentially possible in all Jedi, but a gift very rarely able to be maintained with any amount of skill. I imagine if we weren’t bonded, it would have been much more difficult to contact her. She’s quite stubborn.” Bastila explained, resting her head on her arm.

“Bonded, huh? Didn’t know Jedi did the whole marriage thing. Good for you two. No wonder you’re in here so often, so worried about her. I’ve got a daughter your age and she’s engaged to a lovely girl, too–”   

Bastila bolted upright in her seat.

“What? No no no no, I mean–I mean no offense Dr Nafar–but I am most certainly not–congratulations to your daughter but–I–” She cut off abruptly and sighed, putting her head in her hands.

“Jedi are not to form attachments. What I meant is that she and I have a Force bond–when I saved her life, the Force tied us together.” the Padawan said, trying to regain what little she had left of her composure.

“Ah. I see.”

“If it helps, I don’t understand it either,” she sighed.

“Nice to hear that even Jedi don’t know everything sometimes. So, your uh, associate, I’ve never caught her name. All the paperwork just refers to her as ‘the injured subject’. Do you even know it, with her tied to you and all?” the doctor asked, checking her datapad and reviewing her patient’s file.

Bastila hesitated. Master Zhar had given her a name, as he remembered his former favorite student well. Alderys Lorrevan Lytan, he’d told her. No one else knew Revan as anything other than by the mask and name she had taken up during the Mandalorian Wars. Surely there could be no harm in using the name she would be referred to once they returned to the Enclave.

“Her name is Rys. Alderys Lytan. The mission I was on, the one that resulted in her injury, is completely classified, and it is of utmost importance that the both of us return to the Enclave as soon as possible,” she stated carefully, forcing down the emotions she didn’t understand that were creeping into her voice.

“Then we can have Rys ready for a shuttle to Dantooine by morning, Master Jedi,” Dr Nafar replied gravely, “I’ll speak with the base’s CO and make sure proper arrangements are made for her.”

“...Thank you.” Bastila replied as she sank into her seat, exhausted. Her masters would know what to do. Surely once they returned to Dantooine, her mission would finally be over. She would be back to some sense of order, spending every day on military ships meditating and turning the tide of the war in their favor. She would know her place in the galaxy then, and dealing with Sith Lords only in the abstract.   

 


	3. Appersonation, fin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter of the pre-canon bits, all other stories in this series will be during or post-canon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-graphic torture and general unabashed bitterness towards Vrook

  They kept Revan sedated and under heavy guard in Dantooine’s Enclave, only allowed to regain consciousness before interrogations. The questioning was always done via comms hidden throughout the hospital room/prison cell, though the questioners were simply on the other side of the black glass walls. Torture was never utilized, as Jedi were simply _above_ such atrocities, though there were threats of turning off the Sith’s oxygen or her pain medication should she not comply, though they only occasionally followed through after the time Bastila had nearly collapsed, feeling the full brunt of the Sith’s condition as if it were her own.

 

Revan rarely bothered to humor them regardless. She was the Dark Lord of the Sith and she would sustain herself on the Force alone if need be.  Instead, she would answer only with groans and sighs like a petulant child, though occasionally she would respond with outlandish stories. On one particularly memorable occasion, she recognized the voice on the other end of the comm line and gleefully called out.

 

“Vrook Lamar, you anthropomorphic pile of bantha shit, is that you?  Please, do come in so I can introduce my fist to your throat.”

 

That particular interrogation was cut short almost instantly as they immediately flooded Revan’s systems with sedatives. It took weeks of further failed attempts before the Council allowed Bastila to speak with her, and only under the condition that Master Zhar accompanied her inside the cell.

 

“Are you sure you wish to do this, Padawan? There is no need to further risk yourself for this mission, you have done far more than we could have hoped for already,” the Twi’lek asked as they made their way through the Enclave to Revan’s chamber.

 

“I am. Even if there’s nothing that can be gained to aid in the war effort now, perhaps if I gain her trust… Perhaps later we can learn what we need from her, perhaps she’ll want to redeem herself. But now I need answers of my own,” Bastila replied.

 

“Be careful, Bastila. She will try to manipulate you, confuse you. It is only with utmost confidence in you that you have been allowed this meeting. I will not interfere unless you are in a state of distress and require my aid,” Master Zhar informed her as they finally reached the cell.

 

Biting back a sigh, Bastila forced down her frustration. It would not do to lose her composure before even beginning the interrogation. Master Zhar and the Council meant well, she reminded herself. She just wished the Jedi would actually demonstrate their confidence in her rather than constantly assure her of it. She was torn, between a Republic that expected too much of her and an Order that had the highest expectations for her but only afforded her the barest modicum of trust. But they knew best, of course. They had to.

 

“Yes, of course Master,” she said simply, resting her hand on the door. Zhar put in the codes, the door hissing as it opened, the air releasing from its seals.

 

    “Ah, she comes to visit me at last. Any new attempts for interrogation today? Perhaps starting with the torture finally? Or was this mattress considered enough?” Revan called from her place on the bed, restrained durasteel bands across her chest, arms, and legs, keeping her thoroughly contained. Breathing tubes had been placed in her nose, and a myriad of IV’s filled her arms with kolto and other concoctions.

 

 “The comfort of Sith Lords isn’t a priority to the Republic, Revan,” Bastila said coolly, taking a seat by the older woman’s bed. Master Zhar stood by the door, watching the encounter carefully.

 

 “I’m half certain the reason you Jedi spend so much time meditating is that even the stone floors aren’t as hard as your beds.”

 

“I am not here to discuss your current arrangements, they are far more than you deserve as it is. Resources that could have spent on others, good people elsewhere, instead of on Republic war criminals.”

 

“Tsk tsk, Bastila. Shame on you for saving my life, then. Go ahead. Cut off my life support. Kill me. You’ll never get the information you so desperately need from me regardless,” Revan barked, breaking off into a coughing fit.

 

“That is not the Jedi way,” Bastila answered automatically, clenching and unclenching her fists in her lap.

 

“I have no interest in speaking to a parrot. If you’re here to recite Jedi platitudes at me, then you are wasting your time indeed,” the Sith growled.

 

“And I have no interest in speaking to a petulant child playing at being a Lord of the Sith. I wanted to speak to the woman who saved my life,” she retorted, finally working up the nerve to ask her question. “Why? What did you have to gain from saving me? You are truly and entirely corrupted by the dark side, self-sacrifice should not be in your nature by its very definition.”

 

Revan froze, considering her answer for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

 

“It was not meant to be self-sacrifice, I assure you. Would that you’d had the reflexes and presence of mind to deactivate your kriffing saber, instead of flailing it about like a bumbling initiate, we would not be in this position.”

 

Bastila flushed, but continued pressing the issue. “You saw me charging you right before you tackled me! It was you who grabbed me. You fell on my saber when you threw us both onto the lift. Why not leave me to die, why not just leave me in the path of the cannon fire?” she argued.

 

“You fascinate me, Bastila Shan. It would have been a terrible waste to leave you to die,” Revan replied simply, studying the Padawan’s face.

 

Bastila stood up, gritting her teeth. “Why did you fall?” she asked, and though her doubts kept eating at her, frustration bubbling inside her, she decided to change the subject.

 

“Ah, the Jedi isn’t satisfied with my answers, is she? What would you rather I had said? That I fell in love with you at first sight, that I have a weakness for dark-haired women who’ve held a saber to my throat? That I hoped to corrupt you to the dark side, that I saw you as the tool the Jedi do, and that you fear is your only value? That I have considered all of these options and acted as I saw fit, as I always have? Therein lies the answer you desire, Bastila. I saved your life because I saw fit to do so. I left your miserable Order because it suited me. I live without regrets, Jedi. Can you say the same?” the Sith asked pointedly, holding Bastila’s gaze until the younger woman looked away with a sigh, rubbing her temples.

 

“I should have known you wouldn’t take this seriously.”

 

“On the contrary, Jedi. I’m _deathly_ serious. Everything I’ve told you has been of the _utmost veracity,_ ” Revan replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

 

“I think it best that we conclude this session, Bastila,” Master Zhar rumbled from his spot by the door.

 

“Yes, of course Master,” the Padawan agreed, and as they left the room she gently probed the edges of her bond, reaching tentatively out with her mind. Revan’s sedatives took a few minutes to take effect, but Bastila still managed to pick up on her emotions. Despite the Sith Lord’s mostly composed facade, emotions swirled up inside her like a whirlwind. Fear and anger and hurt, pride and betrayal and traces of old wounds yet to heal. She was surprisingly… _vulnerable_.

 

As carefully as she could, Bastila formed a question in Revan’s mind, feeling her out and attempting to mimic the older woman’s own thoughts.

 

_Why did you save her?_

 

_I… I don’t know._

 

Bastila then withdrew, biting her lip pensively as she came back to herself. Wordlessly, she continued with Zhar through the Enclave until she reached her quarters. Once inside, she threw herself on the bed, holding the pillow to her stomach and staring up at the ceiling as she mentally reviewed the events of her ‘interrogation’.

 

Suddenly, a presence teased at the edges of her thoughts.

 

 _Are you satisfied now, Jedi?_   it asked smugly.

 

Bastila merely groaned and threw her pillow at the wall in response, and the presence retreated from her mind.

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon meditating, finding it necessary to recenter herself after her… encounter. She was informed that Zhar had reported the incidents of the day to the Council, and that they were currently discussing what to do with the Sith Lord in their custody. She would be called upon to give counsel in the morning. Until then, she would seek out her own answers in the Force.

 

*************

 

That night Bastila was wracked with nightmares, a dream of the ocean crushing her skull and her lungs filling with ice as she struggled in vain, clawing at anything in sight, desperate to reach the surface, air, something. A pale man with purple tattoos-- _Malak?_ \--pulled her into a submersible and the Jedi woke with a start.

 

_Had that been… Was that Revan’s dream?_

 

Bastila hastily pulled on her robes and rushed down the Enclave’s corridors. She found the Dark Lord of the Sith seizing and convulsing against her restraints, still heavily sedated. A lone medical officer stood guard at the door, passively monitoring Revan’s vitals.

 

“What is the meaning of this? There’s something wrong with her! Fetch Master Zhar or Vandar at once,” Bastila demanded.

 

“I’m here on a Council member’s orders, Master Jedi--” the officer protested, but Bastila ignored him, reaching out with her mind for Revan. An inferno seared through her mind, and she withdrew with a shout. The Sith Lord’s walls were in full force, even in her distress. Perhaps even stronger because of it.

 

“Padawan! You should not be here.” Vrook Lamar reprimanded as he rounded the corner.

 

Bastila whirled around to face him, eyes blazing. “For what reason? What have you done to her? She believes that she’s _drowning_ , on the verge of death--”

 

“So that is Darth Revan’s greatest fear is it? Even the Dark Lord of the Sith is but an ordinary woman. There must be something the Republic can do with that...” Vrook interrupted, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “She has only been dosed with a serum recovered from one of her facilities for corrupting Jedi, Padawan Shan. It is only justice that she bear its full effects personally. The Sith is to be turned over into Republic custody before she fully heals. We cannot contain or release her, and if she dies it may have dire consequences for your Battle Meditation, Padawan, considering your bond. I will not have our initiates put at risk of the massacre she will wreak upon our Enclave should she recover. The Sith must break, before she or Malak grow any stronger.”

“Regardless of its _justice_ , Master Vrook, this is not the Jedi way! Jedi do not _torture_ their enemies,” Bastila countered vehemently.

 

“What has transpired here?” Master Zhar inquired, finally arriving on the scene.

 

“Master Vrook dosed her with a hallucinogen!” Bastila exclaimed.

 

“It was for the good of the Republic and the Enclave--” Vrook argued.

 

“Enough! We will speak of this later, rationally, like the Jedi we are. For now, Doctor, have the Sith dosed with an antidote immediately. Bastila, you should see to her recovery. I would not want to see her trauma bring you harm through her bond. She is more likely to trust you than any of the Council.” Zhar said sternly.

 

“Yes, Master,” Bastila answered quickly as the Councilmember opened the door, darting inside the cell behind the medic.

 

Bastila pulled one of the chairs up to Revan’s bed, taking the older woman’s hand in hers almost with tenderness, using the physical link to strengthen their bond. The Sith, still convulsing on the bed, latched onto her presence immediately, curling around Bastila’s mind like a vice.

 

_You will get **nothing** from me._

 

 _That isn’t my intention now. I was not a part of this, nor will I ever be. Release me at once,_  Bastila retorted, forcing down the bile rising in her throat. She’d heard of Sith being able to crush other’s throats, even a person’s entire body with the Force before, but had never considered that such a technique could be employed on a mind. She quashed any fear and doubt before it could truly form, strengthening her barriers however she could as Revan’s mental hold on her squeezed tighter. Suddenly, the Sith Lord relaxed her grip and Bastila opened her eyes. Revan had stilled, the antidote taking its effect. Gradually, the older woman returned to consciousness, blinking slowly.

 

“There isn’t an ounce of deceit  in your entire body is there, Jedi?” Revan rasped with a chuckle.

 

“The Jedi are defenders of trut,.” Bastila said automatically.

 

This time Sith laughed harshly, a barking sound that soon turned into a cough. When she finally tapered off, she turned, facing Bastila and staring into her eyes.

 

“Believe what you will, Bastila Shan. But why are you here with me, if not for information?”

 

“I don’t know,” the younger woman replied honestly, echoing Revan and suddenly aware of the fact that she had never let go of the Sith’s hand, and that the older woman had clasped hers too. Oddly, she felt no urge to withdraw, and instead gave a reassuring squeeze.

 

“It’s a shame we are who we are, Jedi. Were our circumstances different, we could have accomplished much together,” Revan murmured. “But as it stands, you will gain nothing from me, and I am at your mercy. What will you do with me?”

 

“That is a matter to be decided by the Council,” Bastila replied, pensive as an idea began forming in her mind. She would present it to her Masters in the morning, and perhaps the Sith Lord could have her wish. _Not in another time, but in another life._

 

 


End file.
